Grind
by QuidditchQuitter
Summary: Twentythree year old Harry is exploring his sexuality. Deciding to escape to mainland Europe, he visits the club scene and discovers Malfoy. Only here, the rules of engagement seem to be completely different from what he's used to...
1. Chapter 1

-1Title: Grind

Rating: M

Pairings: HPDM

Warnings: Slash, eroticism, sex. Not even close to most of the Potterverse cannon, but only because it is not relevant to most of the events of the story. Reads more like a Harry Potter meets Queer as Folk episode (set at club Babylon of course!) Technically post-DH, but pre-epilogue, which is altogether irrelevant.

Author's Notes: I have no ideas for continuing a plot line, but if anyone else does and would like me to, let me know. I've been told it's set up nicely enough for a sequel…

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Club Stov sat smugly in the center of Griffin Avenue like a fat, lazy spider. The smaller clubs on either side seemed intimidated by its multilevel majesty, which shone through its windows in the form of neon holographic conjurations that projected scenes from the dance floors, lounges, and concert stage onto the street. It was the most famed club on the Avenue, and reigned supreme in wizard club lore throughout Germany.

Harry Potter stared at it from across the street as he leaned against a lamppost. He was twenty-three years old. At the beginning of his sexual peak, he had made the inconvenient discovery that he was bisexual…at the very least, and in other ways, a possible sexual deviant. This discovery had temporarily shattered his former self-perception as the purest of the heroes of modern chivalry, and he had fled his mundane wizard life on a quest to pursue his desires while they took their natural course.

Though he was sure that, had he explained it in these terms, his friends would have understood, he had chosen rather to disappear mysteriously with only the slightest of intimations. He had the money, after all…

He arrived in Germany on a tip from some old Hogwarts acquaintances with whom he had not been close, but who seemed to him to be more worldly than others in their experiences and tastes. Stov-otherwise known as "Grind"-was a name that was thrown around in almost every crowd he'd been in since his liberation, and the wonderful thing about it was, of course, that it was far enough away from his English life that he would never have to worry about running into anyone-anyone who mattered, anyway-that he knew. It had been a very exciting thought at the time, for he had gotten so hot under the collar with almost no release that it had made him constantly sullen and moody.

"Sirius would have understood," he muttered. This was the mantra that he told himself whenever he felt guilty or uncertain.

The reason he was standing outside of Grind, and had not yet gone in, was because Grind represented a point of no return, a step in an irreversible direction once he made it. Grind was reputed to be a gay club, although it catered to mixed crowds as well. It was also reputed to have a "dungeon"; Harry was torn between which idea was the more nerve-racking. Though he'd kissed a few men, he had not had a gay conquest…yet.

"Oh well. Nothing for it. Either do it, or don't." He bounced off the lamppost and strode purposefully across the street. He felt the familiar sense of eyes watching him, but a moment later he was elated with pleasure. No one here knew, or cared, who he was…if they were watching him, it was because he looked good from where they stood. He had enjoyed rediscovering this indulgent feeling of vanity with each adventure, and the added excitement of finally standing at the hallowed grounds of the holy grail of club scenes gave him a pleasant tingle.

When he had crossed the cobbled street and stood outside, literally on the threshold of the club entrance, he paused again. The lighting inside seemed to be a flash of blues and greens and purples, and the thump-thump of amplified dance music pulsated under his feet. He felt tingly again, as if the vibration itself possessed its own magical power. In fact, he found himself wondering just how much of Grind's fame was owed to magical manipulation. One thing he had discovered since the beginning of his sexual exploration was that when it came to GLBT-etcetera, wizards and Muggles alike mingled in similar crowds in many areas of the world.

He had mused on this many times, wondering what that said about the bonds that truly brought people together. Then again, in some circles, it was said that people with "enhanced" sexual energy-"two-spirit" identities, for example-tended toward the magical forces in the world anyway. But that was something Harry never heard talked about in any of the "official" spokespersons of the English magical population, and he doubted he ever would. Overcoming prejudice toward different forms of power in different creatures seemed to be a constant struggle for witches and wizards, if the matter of the house elves alone were any indication.

The mystique of it all, however-the thought of all those bodies, magical, Muggle, and "other" all gyrating around in an ecstasy of celebration, all tuned into the same frequency, more or less-drew him into the club doors at last. He felt these thoughts, still so philosophical and prosaic in nature, slipping out of his mind as if into an invisible pensieve, to be replaced by the pure enjoyment of thinking nothing at all, but only feeling. The rhythm of the West African sampling to the Celtic chant was hypnotic. Here was a Mecca, Harry thought as he gazed around, his eyes glowing in the light show, of seekers of freedom.

The misty, glassy doors gave way; the giant male guardians of the temple gestured solemnly, bowing their shimmering horned and masked heads. Harry walked slowly past the bouncers as if in a dream, a brief thrill running up and down his limbs as the smell of cologne mixed with sweat wafted into his nostrils. Misty, artificial smoke (was it magical or mechanical?) slowly cleared in front of him, and he felt himself harden as his view broke upon the hundreds of elated, twisting bodies dancing in close proximity to each other as if in worship to an invisible spirit.

He stood there in adoration while it seemed that time stopped, until at last his admiration bubbled into desire. He wished to join them in veneration, but how? The ritual was unknown to him. No one had told him how to achieve the ecstasy, and it was becoming painfully clear, the longer he stood there, that pure desire was not enough.

_"I don't know how to dance! What's more, I don't think I ever wanted to!"_

Harry remembered speaking these words, half out of scorn, half fear, to Ron during his fourth year when the Yule ball loomed miserably over their heads. But this was so different! For the first time, as Harry watched the bodies all around him, intent upon each other, intent upon movement which became language, expressing one repetitious message (_I want you, and I know you want me_), the thought occurred to him that he might have been artistically deprived. It was a feeling of being found naked.

Nevertheless, Harry was determined, and awe was winning out over uncertainty. He strode through the crowd, openly admiring all. They seemed not to care anyway. Here, men danced with men and women with women, groups and all in every pairing imaginable, in every get-up that could be conceived in the brightest-or darkest-of European gothic fantasy. Occasionally, dark eyes met his and feasted on him with fierce intensity, but it seemed as if everyone here already had a partner. He explored the room, meaning to make his way from one end to another to see if there was a break in the crowd; somewhere at a bar or a wall where he could quietly watch and perhaps gather the courage to entice a partner for the evening. The thought excited and frightened him; though he had had some flirtatious experiences with other men, this night was meant to be a full, open exploration into any possibility that presented itself.

The song, which had seemed to go on forever, reached an end and there was a brief pause in the pulsing dance rhythm as synthesized melody improvised over the loud-speaker to prolong the mood of sexual intrigue. During that space, Harry was aware of himself standing in the middle of the floor, and felt that he was the most conspicuous person in the entire _nachtklub_. One or two men eyed him as if to try him out, but they were enticed away by more aggressive partners, or else, Harry mused, they saw the lack of aggression in his. _I'm too nervous_, he chided himself. _Too self-conscious. I should just dance, whether anyone dances with me or not._

Even as he came to this conclusion, he felt frozen in his over-developed sense of dignity. Now he really envied those around him, and those in school who had had no problem making fools of themselves for the sake of a good time. _I'd look a lot less stupid if I were willing to look a little stupid like everyone else,_ he told himself for the millionth time, as he had often done in similar situations. However, this time was different, and he knew it. For some reason he could not understand, _everyone_ here looked good. Everyone seemed to be _free_. _I'd better go find that wall_.

He was about to traverse the middle of the floor when he stopped, an ice-cold stab of recognition piercing him. It couldn't be; it was impossible! But no less than ten feet ahead, in the middle of a small posse of male companions, a familiar face with white-blond hair was laughing and chattering away. Some of the guys surrounding Draco Malfoy-for it was none other-seemed to be trying to pull him into a slow dance for the next number. Malfoy was dressed with impeccable style; though he'd always seemed to pride himself on his appearance, Harry had always thought he looked rather stiff and prudish in their school days. Tonight, he-if it really was Malfoy-was wearing a light-colored shirt that flattered his slim physique with a snug fit and came down just to his thighs. His trousers were dark, and Harry was not certain whether or not they were jeans.

_Probably spent a couple hundred Galleons on that ridiculous outfit_, Harry thought wryly. It would be just like Malfoy. One thing, however, he could tell right away as Malfoy's face turned in his direction, and his gray eyes lighted upon his with surprise: his eyes were ever-so-lightly decorated with dark eyeliner, giving him both a somewhat effeminate and yet uncompromisingly masculine allure. _I want you, and I _know _you want me. _Malfoy smirked.

Harry's stomach sank. Malfoy was coming toward him, and with him, the whole group who had just been standing there openly expressing their hero worship. _What is he _doing_ here?!_ This was worse than just running into someone he knew; he could not honestly think of anyone he would least have wanted to encounter in his state of exploration. Even Ron would have been preferable, and that was saying something; no matter what, Ron was his friend. Ron would have kept his secrets, even if he never spoke to him again. _I should have left when I had the opportunity_, Harry thought, mentally kicking himself as he set his jaw with determined obstinance. Just the sight of Malfoy, grinning so knowingly at him, was enough to roil his blood. That, and the fact that this was _his_ territory; he was damned if he was going to let Malfoy ruin it for him. As he made this resolution, Malfoy stopped a couple of feet in front of him, his friends looking at Harry with mingled interest and amusement. _They don't know who I am, _he realized.

"Well, well, well. Harry, Harry. I can honestly say you are the _last_ person I ever expected to see _here_."

Harry glared at him, his heart pounding. _At least he didn't say your last name, you know_. Why not? Nothing Malfoy ever did was by accident. He was undoubtedly making the point that he held power over him, and relishing it every second. Harry was filled with a fresh, renewed hatred for Malfoy; but this time, he knew it was fueled, perhaps for once in his life, by jealousy. _Huh_, some calm, inner voice remarked with irony, _this must be what he feels like all the time when he's hating you._ It was almost funny.

"I could easily say the same. What are you doing here?"

Malfoy raised an indignant eyebrow, but he still grinned.

"What am _I_ doing here? What does it look like I'm doing? Enjoying myself, having a good time in my home away from home. At least, I was. Honestly, Pot-I mean, Harry, I wonder if you can help me with a little problem I'm having. You're so good at solving mysteries. Tell me, if a person wants to, I dunno, get away from someone else who just doesn't seem to disappear, what does he have to do?"

"Get knocked off a broom. At least, that's what I'd suggest. I've heard it's helpful, anyway."

Malfoy's eyes seemed to crackle just the slightest bit at this remark, but he did not drop his smile. Instead, it broadened across his face as if he knew something Harry didn't. It made him angrier than ever.

The music was picking up again; a slow, house rhythm was undulating throughout the club, and with it the crowd reflected the beat in waves and twists like a million ribbons twirling in a breeze. Malfoy moved in closer, and Harry held his ground, adrenaline beginning to pump through him as his animal instincts took over. If Malfoy tried anything, he wouldn't need any magic-Malfoy leaned in, directing his words into Harry's ear. Harry felt the small puffs of breath on his temple as Malfoy spoke louder:

"So, Harry, all pleasantries aside, what brings you to Stov? It's a special place; you must know that. I can hardly imagine you're here by accident. Or is it, mere curiosity?" Malfoy's grin grew even broader, and he stepped close to Harry, chest to chest. He drew back his arm and swung it toward Harry-and Harry flinched, his fist clenching and ready to pull back into a punch. But he never got the chance, because what happened next shocked him into a full three seconds of paralysis. Malfoy draped his arm around Harry's neck, pulled them even closer together, and then began _dancing_…or that's what it seemed, though he could hardly process this idea before he reacted instinctively and slapped his arm away, pushing him back into his group in the process.

The entire group of men stared at him and then at Malfoy, whose mouth had dropped open into a small "O." Harry could feel his face flushing as the blood rushed loudly in his ears. He panted the slightest bit, even more furious than ever. How dare Malfoy try to humiliate him! In another second, he would regret ever setting eyes on Harry when he found himself face down with his teeth knocked out-Harry started forward in a rage-

"Whoa, whoa! Wait! What was that for?"

Malfoy was looking truly wounded, and this time it was Harry's turn to stare open-mouthed. _Is he _seriousHis expression must have said exactly that, and quite eloquently, because Malfoy's shock was turning back into a half grin of sorts. Malfoy approached again, but this time more cautiously.Something about the way he was looking at him; Harry's heart was still pounding as if ready for a fight, but there was a strange, unformed thought forming in the back of his mind that held him still. It was something in Malfoy's eyes, something about the way they fixed on his with a kind of curious interest that he'd never seen before, and then there were those dark, sparkling outlines around the lashes that suggested-

"What's your problem? Forget your club etiquette? Or didn't anyone ever teach it to you? In here, we leave the wands and the feuds-at least, the physical ones-outside. Inside, we _dance_."

His eyes were mesmerizing; before Harry knew it, Malfoy's arm was draped around his neck again, and he pulled himself to him, their foreheads nearly resting against one another. Harry's swirl of emotions, at this point, was so confused he could no longer tell if the adrenaline were from leftover anger or sexual arousal. He couldn't seem to breathe, or move, or make up his mind. He merely stared back into Malfoy's eyes, refusing to answer. How was it that Malfoy's expression was so cool in comparison?

"So, are we gonna dance, Potter? Or, are you finally out of your element?" Malfoy's body pressed the slightest bit against his, and Harry now felt heat spreading all through him. How could he possibly back down now? He continued to return Malfoy's gaze with a cold glare, but allowed him to coax him slowly into a swaying motion as the music built to a dull throb in which any further conversation would be impossible. Harry felt stiff with trepidation and was certain he looked awkward, but Malfoy was a surprisingly patient partner. He led them at a slower rhythm than the rest of the crowd-which included his friends, who had partnered up in the background-but Harry could feel his confidence, the way he communicated the rhythm through his own body as if a conductor, and he could not deny that he was impressed. _No, envious. Why don't you call it what it is?_

Then, as Harry picked up the motion and began to feel more comfortable, Malfoy began to move of his own accord. Without dropping the beat, his motions became more sinewy, fluid, sensual; Malfoy's body pulled forward and back, teasing against Harry's front. Harry felt himself grow even harder than ever, and suddenly he wished he could excuse himself to go catch his breath. He felt like everyone could see the tent in his pants, and all of them would soon be sharing in the great joke: The Boy Who Lives Falls Hard for Former School Rival. _The Daily Prophet_ would have a hay day with a headline like that…

Malfoy swung around and switched positions; he orbited Harry and came back around, running his hands loosely along his chest, his waist, his back. All the time, whenever they faced each other, his gray eyes met Harry's and it seemed that they held secret laughter, and yet Harry felt that this laughter was not entirely at his expense. He clung to his anger, fueled with embarrassment, but despite himself he found that it subsided as he was hypnotized by Malfoy's attention. It seemed several hours had passed into the night, the music climactically building in intensity, seeping from one song to another, when Harry was struck with the thought that Malfoy had more than met his hopes for the evening. When he'd first entered Stov, he would have considered himself lucky to simply score a dance partner for even a few minutes. But Malfoy, who seemed to be a regular here as well as quite popular-it was like being in the Twilight Zone-had actually taken Harry, awkward and an outsider, and made him feel like the star of the dance floor.

In fact, a few times when Harry was able to tear his eyes away from Malfoy's winding, sensual movements, he noticed a few people stopping long enough to watch them for a few moments before returning to their own dance of bliss. Harry felt himself slipping, slipping under Malfoy's spell. He held his gray eyes with interest now, and, when Malfoy moved against him again, he slung his arm around Malfoy's waist, holding it firmly to his. Malfoy responded by pulling in tight, wrapping both arms around his neck, and slowing his dance to a sensual writhing against his thighs. That did it for Harry. He was lost in a delicious ocean of pleasure, wave after wave of arousal drugging him until he blinked, mystified, and shielded his eyes from the sudden intrusion of the house lights. The club was closing. It was four a.m. and much of the dance floor had emptied by now, except for a core group of dancers, many of whom seemed to have been watching he and Malfoy.

Malfoy's friends were waiting for him at the bar. They strode over to them across the dance floor, and Malfoy turned to meet them while Harry stood blinking in the light, bewildered by the sudden hint of chill in the air.

"You ready, Draco?"

"Yeah, let's get out of here."

Two of the party, both African or Middle Eastern-looking, were putting on their coats. One of them, whose hair hung in long dreadlocks down his back, handed Malfoy a waist-length, gray jacket of stylish leather. Harry watched him zip it up, warmed again by his new appreciation for his slim and well-shaped figure. Malfoy seemed to have filled out in the few years since they'd last seen each other. He wondered how he looked to Malfoy now. Did he find Harry similarly grown and smoldering with sexual energy? He wished and hoped so.

"Hey. Potter. You just going to stand there in the middle of the floor?"

"Wha?"

The group had already joined several other customers moving toward the door, kicking confetti and cigarette butts out of their way as they went, Malfoy was in the middle of his own group several feet away, but one of his companions, a younger-looking, dark-haired bloke with blue streaks and a nose ring was addressing him. So they knew who he was, now, or, at least, they knew his name. Did wizards in Germany know of Harry Potter? He was still standing and looking dumbly at the kid who had spoken when Draco turned around and looked back at him. Harry felt his heart leap up into his throat. He suddenly knew that though he'd never bring himself to ask of his own accord, he wanted very much to be invited to wherever they were going.

"Leaving, Harry?"

"Yeah. I 'spect so." He walked after them, catching up with Draco. It occurred to him that though the eye make-up was much more conspicuous in the fluorescent house lighting, he was not mistaken in noticing how attractive Draco had become.

"Leaving for good, or-"

"No, no…I'll be in the country for another week or so I expect."

"Ah. Good, good. Have lots to see I would think. Ever been to Germany before?"

They were out in the open now, standing on the street. The air was a little chilly because it was night, but otherwise the sky was clear and the fresh air felt wonderful after the night of dancing. Harry listened to the sound of the club doors clanging shut and the chains drawn across on the inside. The remaining patrons dispersed in either direction down the street, but Malfoy and his friends lingered, a couple of the boys lighting up cigarettes. The street was still well lit as a few pubs and diners remained opened.

"This is my first time, actually."

"Yeah? Like it?"

"Love it. How about you?"

"I've been here loads of times. One of my favorite places."

"Yeah? Cool, cool…" He wished they would invite him out with them for the evening. He thought of the dark hotel room that waited for him on the corner, and in spite of the wonderful time he'd had, was disappointed in himself to realize he'd not made any new friends to accompany him back to the hotel. Surely many of the patrons who had been at the club were staying the same building; why hadn't he made more of an effort to meet people? Then he thought of Draco, the way they'd danced as if no one else in the world existed, grinding against each other as if preparing for a primal mating ritual. The thought made him hot all over again, and even more as he marveled over the fact that this was his former enemy. Had anything really changed, he wondered, as he watched Malfoy gazing down the street, washed in lamplight?

Malfoy's friends finished their cigarettes, grinding the butts out with their heels. They started walking in the direction of Harry's room, so he fell into step with them, listening to their chatter-the boy with the nose ring had a remarkable accent that was simply delicious to hear-and occasionally making small talk with them. In five minutes, they'd reached his place. Harry stopped, trying to think of some way to keep the night from ending. Already, he anticipated the let down of not being able to repeat this experience again.

"So this where you're staying, Harry?" Draco was looking at him expectantly, his hands plunged into his jacket pockets.

"Yeah. You all staying around here?"

"Nah. We've got to head back, get Ralph home." He indicated the boy with the nose ring with a jerk of his head. "All the way on the other side of town."

"Got it. Well," Harry turned to leave, wishing he could read Draco's expression. Was he interested, or merely being polite? "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Yeah, I'm sure I will. You going back to Stov?"

"Yeah, probably. Tomorrow night, if possible."

"It's not open again until Tuesday. At least, not for our crowd. Mostly retro stuff, older people. But if you're still here by then, I'll probably see you there. I'm always at Stov one way or the other." He smiled, and Harry smiled back. Draco wanted to see him again too, then.

"All right. Well hopefully I'll see you then." _And you'll dance with me, like you did tonight?_ Harry wished he could ask, but he thought somehow that the understanding was there, even though neither of them felt the need to say it.

"Yeah. I'll see you then. Have fun, Harry." _Yes, I'll dance with you. _

Malfoy continued down the street with his buddies, who all left him with "_bis später" _and a wave of the hand. Harry could hardly keep his inner glow from breaking into a bright smile on his face. Draco was going to dance with him again on Tuesday. It was as good as a date. But how, he wondered agonizingly as he showed the hotel staff his I.D., would he ever survive the wait until then?


	2. Chapter 2

-1The next day was spent in lonely solitude. Harry spent the night lying awake in bed, replaying magic of the evening. _He only danced with me_, he marveled as the moonlight fell across his room. He was filled with a sense of shy flattery, that Draco Malfoy actually _liked_ him. Could things really change so easily, so imperceptibly, without any words being exchanged, without any old, painful memories being drug up? Apparently, in this world, there were times when they could. In the club, in the underground with all the other outsiders, all the deviants and fantastic alter egos, what happened outside in the daylight didn't matter, didn't even exist. There, on the dance floor, he and Draco were just two young men with passion coursing through their blood, full of mutual appreciation and respect. They moved together in harmony as if with the universe, unaware that there could ever be such a thing as discord. They powered the universe with their rebellion, and bent it to their will.

Harry felt like he was a million miles away from his former life, and every time he thought about the night at Stov, a warm happiness flooded him inside. He walked the street alone, entering shops and restaurants, and in the evening, rode a bus tour along the Rhine. But the whole time, his thoughts were back to the night before with Draco, an attractive man who noticed him, and his group of friends, who seemed completely oblivious or indifferent to the fact that back home, he was "Harry Potter," the Boy Who Lived. It was too good to be real, and the spell of the night before, the certainty of what he'd shared with Malfoy, began to wear off. As night fell and he sat alone his room, wondering what to do with himself, apprehension crept over him.

He threw on a sweater and went out into the night again, stopping at a pub where a large, boisterous crowd was watching a soccer game on television. He sat at the bar so that the fact that he was alone would not look terribly pathetic, and gazed uncomprehendingly at the screen. Every time the group around him erupted into cheers and applause, he joined in or nodded. But all he could think about was whether or not he were a fool for believing that Malfoy actually felt what he thought he'd felt that night, and that he would really come back true to his word and dance with him on the morrow. _I'd better hope so, or else start preparing to make some new friends for the night._ He made up his mind, as the hours wore tediously on, that no matter what he would not go home on Tuesday night alone.

He spent another restless night of excitement and anxious dreams, in which he found himself at Stov's over and over again. Sometimes Malfoy was there, sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes they danced. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes, they never found each other at all. In the morning, Harry ate breakfast in his room, sitting sulkily in his pjs and watching television. After a while, he could stand it no more. He got dressed and, grabbing his Firebolt, explored the city, looking for areas he'd heard about where wizards and witches were able to hang out. He managed to find one park where people were flying around playing Quidditch, and joined in a game or five, which alleviated his spirits considerably. He did not make any permanent friendships; everyone there was either much younger or preferred to speak exclusively in German, but his skill level earned him a drink or two with a group of players in their late twenties and early thirties, and by the time they were done, it was about 8 p.m.

Harry went back to the hotel and pulled out all of his clothes, examining his wardrobe for something more flattering and sensual to wear to the club tonight. He didn't really have anything; all his clothes were comfortable, not old or ragged, but not above casual. _I have a lot of jeans_, he observed scornfully. Why hadn't he used some of his excessive free time to go clothes shopping? Would it have killed him to see what was in style once in a while? And yet, as he sifted through his slacks and shirts, tossing one after another aside, he knew that even that would have been a futile quest. He had never liked shopping for clothes, and the few times he'd been out with Hermione or his other friends, he always found going into clothing stores dreadfully monotonous. _I bet if I could go with someone like Malfoy, I might actually learn something._ The thought of Malfoy, and all the expectations and hopes he'd attached to seeing him tonight, made him depressed and sulky again.

He finally settled on a silky, dark green button-down shirt that his female friends had once ogled on him, and a pair of black corduroys. He liked the way his clothes seemed to show off his muscular frame in the mirror, but was disappointed that he did not have anything slightly flashier. Most of the people he'd seen at Stov had piercings, tattoos, hair color or make up. These were people who relished being in the spotlight, who lived under the hypnotic glow of the otherworldly colors and music and atmosphere of the club scene. Someone who looked like Harry would hardly be noticed in such a crowd.

"There's some advantages to that; here, you really are just one of the crowd, you know." He took some satisfaction in that; it was true. Hadn't he been relieved to go somewhere where everyone wouldn't be stopping him in the street and staring at his scar? Finally deciding that enough was enough, he waited for nine thirty to roll around and couldn't stand it any longer. He left the room and went directly to Stov's, arriving early enough to avoid paying the expensive, later cover charge.

There were not many people on the floor, but the bar was crowded. He went over to it, listening to the groove of the techno music that pulsated throughout the building. When he sat down, ordering a whiskey, a hand appeared next to his and he became aware of a large, male presence standing over him. Looking around over his shoulder, he saw a large, bald German man in biker gear looking coldly back into his eyes. The man said something in German, and Harry gathered very quickly that the man was, contrary to what he'd originally thought, trying to flirt with him.

"Uh, thanks, but no."

The man continued to speak in German and pushed a mug near him. He wanted to buy him a drink.

"I don't speak German. Thank you, but no; I don't think I'm into the same things you are. Thanks, though."

The German "daddy" pushed closer and kept talking, so Harry got up and politely shook his head, escaping to the dance floor. _What a freak_. He felt completely at a loss and utterly stupid. Why had he come back here? "He probably won't even show up," he muttered.

People were beginning to fill the floor. He leaned against a wall, watching them as they wove in and out of each other's spaces. All of them were beautiful in a strange, mysterious way. All of them were already lost in the music. Again, he wished he could be like them. _Maybe I just don't drink enough_, he mused, but the thought did not appease him.

After about forty-five minutes, he stiffened his resolve. Malfoy was not coming. He'd probably meant to, but he found something else to do. Or, maybe he'd never really meant to at all. That was all right. He would find someone else to dance with tonight, and then he would take them home, or be invited somewhere for the night. He had to learn how to have a good time sometime; might as well be now. He scanned the crowd and saw more than one man who attracted him, but could not get up the courage to dance with any of them, so he began looking at the women instead. He had finally started to join a small group in the center of the floor, dancing next to a dark-haired woman who looked like she might be a fifth wheel, when he felt a hand on the back of his neck. Draco swung around to his front falling right into rhythm with his body, and Harry's heart skipped a beat with elation. Draco looked incredibly hot; tonight, he was showing off his arms in a black, sleeveless shirt that clung to his pecks and hard stomach. His pants were of a comfortable white material with a stripe down each side. They also showed off his shape as before, broadening out at the bottom of the calves. Harry smiled, and Draco smiled back.

"I wasn't sure you were coming."

"What?"

"I said I wasn't sure if I'd see you tonight."

"I just got here. Been waiting long?"

Harry shrugged and rested his hands on Draco's waist to better feel his sense of rhythm. Draco pulled in closer, as he had the other night, and this time they seemed to move as one. Harry felt his body remembering the instruction of Draco's hips and thighs, the pulse of the beat as it guided him, the fluidity of pure response. Draco seemed to sense Harry's confidence. He followed Harry's lead this time, and at one point, when Harry spun him around, he fell naturally into a beautiful dip. Harry swung him back forcefully into an embrace, and it was at that point that he noticed with pleasure that people had moved away from them and were now watching. As if being taken over by someone else, Harry found himself remembering steps that he knew he'd only ever seen done by others. He and Draco whirled around their small space on the floor, Draco twirling under his outstretched arm, then coming in close and grinding with his back to Harry. Harry's hips picked up the rhythm of the dance and, instead of moving his feet, they seemed to drop under his torso and direct all of his motions at one time. As he caught a glimpse here and there of the spectators, he saw them moving in place, feeling their groove with appreciation. _We must look _damn_ good_. He smiled into Draco's eyes, seeing his own satisfaction reflected there.

After a while, another couple of dancers wove out onto the floor and outdid them with a few professional-looking steps, then two or three others took the floor. Harry and Draco pulled into a slow, sensual embrace as they had the other night, sticking to a small, tight space as the crowd again filled in around them. Again, Draco fell back into a dip, and again, Harry pulled him back so that he slammed into his waist. Harry felt a new pressure as Draco gyrated against him, and realized he was hard. It was all he could do to keep from grinning at the thought that he had given Draco a hard-on. Yes, tonight, he would definitely not be going home alone.

Everything could not have gone more perfectly. A few times throughout the night, both he and Draco danced briefly with other partners, but they always returned to each other, and each time, Harry felt as if they were only really aware of the other. No one else existed in this, their space. At one thirty a.m., a shower of glittering confetti rained down upon the entire club. The music picked up and took a fast, frenzied turn until it ended abruptly at 2 a.m. Harry followed Draco, who led him loosely by the hand, to the outside, where his friends were waiting as before. The boy with the nose ring and thick accent was not there tonight, but there were about three new faces in his place, all of them male.

His friends nodded and greeted Harry, who nodded back as if they were old school mates. The crowd emptied out around them, the smokers stopping to line the outside of the building in clumps of threes and fours before going on their way. Draco's friends were talking about this or that other person they had danced with, having apparently spent much of the evening together.

"You two were a couple of stars tonight, Malfoy," the boy with the dreadlocks said.

Draco laughed.

"Did we look good?"

"Oh my god, you guys were amazing. Did you see how the old geezers were looking at you?"

"Ick, spare me the details." Draco took a puff on one of their cigarettes, then ground it out himself.

"You smoke?" Harry was astounded.

"Not much. Was a phase. Trying to kick it, really."

"You'd better."

"Oh? And why's that?"

"You know what it does to your skin."

The others chuckled as they drifted all together along the street, no particular direction in mind, or so it seemed. Harry grinned; Draco was looking at him as if he could not decide whether or not to take this remark seriously.

"I'd hate to see your gorgeous skin all blotched up, like some dried up old prune." Harry draped an arm around Draco's neck, pulling him into step beside him. His comment was met with outright laughter and a few catcalls.

"Better watch Potter, Draco, he's got a silver tongue, hasn't he," one of the African boys said. Draco grinned and allowed himself to be led; Harry was glowing.

"Wait a minute. So, where're we off to, anyway? Isn't this where you're staying, Potter?"

They were stopped halfway down Harry's block, the hotel a few feet away.

"Technically."

"We're going to your flat tonight, Draco?"

"Yeah, sure. Harry, you coming with us?"

"Sure."


	3. Chapter 3

-1It was that simple. Harry walked with the group down the cobblestone streets, his heart elated as he held Draco's neck in the crook of his arm. Draco, for his part, seemed perfectly happy to keep next to him, and even rested a thumb in his pocket for a little while as they went. They stopped at a diner and ate junk food, a couple of the boys indulging themselves in beer. Then they schlepped a few more blocks, turned a few corners, and arrived on a wide street that struck Harry as altogether much fancier than the one from which he'd come.

Here the row houses were stylishly colored and spacious, going up several stories. They were gated with wrought iron, and it seemed that each house had a luxuriously-cared for garden plot. Harry wondered if the people staying here were wizards, Muggles, or both. Perhaps the buildings held secret stories of wizarding houses, just as at Grimmauld Place. They crossed the quiet street, four of them remaining from the group that had gone to the diner, and stood around Draco as he let them in. When they entered, Harry was not completely surprised to find the décor a little more reminiscent of wizarding fashions, what with some rather fantastic-looking tapestries, busts of famous wizards, and even a rack of brooms by the door.

He looked at the other boys to see how they reacted to this, but they appeared not to take notice as they chattered about the recent soccer game. _Muggles. _That was almost certain, as unbelievable as that could be. And yet…

At three thirty a.m., they were lounging in the parlor, watching one of the boys, whose name happened to be Paul, play a video game. Draco was lazily reclined on a giant armchair, Harry and the boy with dreadlocks-called Simone-taking up respective positions on the enormous sofa.

"Do that thing again, Draco, with the clock," Simone said after a while. Harry had been watching Draco, who had procured his wand from somewhere and was, scrumptiously, he thought, practicing transfiguration on some objects on the coffee stand. He realized with some shock that Simone had been watching as well, but he did not seem terribly surprised as he made the request.

"What thing," Draco answered, sounding bored, but Harry thought he recognized a hint of his familiar smirk.

"You know what. Do it again."

"What do you want me to turn it into?" Draco turned the point of the wand to the desk clock, which itself did not seem terribly extraordinary, and fixed his attention to it.

"I dunno…how about…a cup?"

"Easy." This time the exaggerated boredom was unmistakable. He flicked his wand, and the clock compressed, deepened, and transformed into a plain, white teacup. Simone smacked Harry, who was growing uneasy, and laughed.

"Have you ever seen anything like that, Harry?"

"Transfiguration. Not my strongest point," Draco interrupted, and Harry wondered for whose benefit this comment was made. He looked at Draco for some indication as to how much he should say, but Draco seemed to be purposely avoiding his gaze. Magic, in front of Muggles, and so blatantly displayed? He couldn't decide which was more shocking: the fact that Draco was so patently disregarding the rules of English wizarding law, or the fact that he was actually doing it to impress his company of _Muggle_ friends.

"Um, yeah. I've seen it."

"Oh yeah? Can you do it? That's right, Draco said you were one of them…"

"He did?" Harry looked at Draco again, this time finding the gray eyes looking back with a blank, entirely unreadable expression. Draco looked away again and continued playing with the wand, much to Harry's chagrin. "Um, well, sure. Not my strong point either, though."

"Well, what can you do?"

"Oh, I dunno…fly…" He stammered, feeling himself growing red.

"Yeah, but they all do that, right Draco?"

Draco nodded disinterestedly. Harry was annoyed.

"So what's Draco really good at? Honestly?" Simone continued as if he had not just asked a previous question.

"Yeah, he won't tell us much of anything," said Paul, his eyes still fixed on the screen where he'd just survived a spectacular car crash.

"Potions," Harry answered without even thinking, and Draco's head snapped up. He thought he saw the tiniest crackle of a warning in the gray eyes, but he could not be sure.

"Yeah? That true?" Simone seemed fascinated.

"Sure. That was one of my best subjects," Draco answered boldly, but Harry himself could not be sure if he actually believed that; neither one of them had been fantastic students in Professor Snape's class, although Draco had most certainly idolized their late instructor.

"So what about you, Harry?" Paul interjected again.

"Me? Well…I…I dunno. Mostly I just got into a lot of trouble, I guess."

He could not be sure, but he thought Draco actually smiled a little at this. The whole situation was getting very uncomfortable; perhaps the best thing would be his usual fallback: honesty.

"So, wait a minute. Explain something to me, here, because I'm not very used to this. You all are Mug-not wizards?"

"Us?" Simone and Paul both laughed. "No way, man. Not us. Just Draco. Or can't you tell?"

"Yeah, but, I mean, how did you know-" He stopped himself as Draco looked daggers at him this time. "Nevermind. It's not important."

"How did we know about Draco? Well, it was a bit hard for him to hide for long. Not to mention the fact that we both have wizards in our relations, so it's not something we've never heard of," Simone explained easily. Harry was astounded. So it really was a transformation on Draco's part; he had befriended Muggles, and "mud bloods," no less. These boys did not even seem aware of the hostile distinctions themselves.

"We met rather by chance, I'd say. But that's what happens, when you start hanging about at places like Stov's." Draco's tone of voice had a certain finality to it, and Harry noticed that he had stowed his wand away. He decided to let the matter drop would be best. He did wonder, though, exactly how strong was the foundation of their new friendship? Perhaps he would be able to find out.

At four forty-five a.m., Draco announced that he was going to "crash out." Harry's eyes had been fluttering closed as well, and despite the awkwardness of the magic conversation, he still found himself drawn to admire Draco, and remember with a flush how they had danced together at the nightclub. There was more to be learned, much more, and besides, he had a promise to himself…

"Me too," he said, stretching, and got up in the hopes of following Draco. Simone had stretched almost completely lengthwise on the sofa, and he wondered if perhaps Paul would join him, or remain where he was on the floor. He seemed to be disinterested in what the others were doing, but Harry noticed that they gave each other significant glances and smirked at Draco when he left the room. Harry followed, uncertain, his heart pounding with excitement.

"Come on, Harry. No point in you going home tonight."

"All right; only if it won't put you out," he answered sleepily as Draco led them up the narrow, circled stairs. Draco lit his wand and let the soft light travel ahead. His blond hair was slightly mussed and, Harry noticed with amusement, staticy. _Is it wrong that I want to run my fingers through that and just stroke that neck?_

They stopped in front of what must be Draco's bedroom, and Harry watched him open the door into a richly laid-out, four-poster bed with blue, velvet trimmings. Though the style was very Malfoy, Harry noted that it was not that large a departure from the more well-to-do style of upscale Muggles.

"What about Paul and Simone? Do they have their own guest bedroom?"

Draco chuckled.

"Sometimes Simone stays up here, but Paul plays the games all night. I'm not even absolutely certain he sleeps, since I've never seen it."

"Oh. So, they're not…"

"What, Simone and Paul? I doubt it. I suspect they fool around now and then, but they're mostly just friends. Been around each other too long, that's my guess."

"I see." Harry was momentarily at a lost for words; Draco had unbuttoned his shirt and was now going over to his walk-in closet to conjure it onto a hanger. Harry stared at his bare, slim back, and swallowed. _This isn't good; he's got the upper hand on you! What's the matter with you? Forgotten how to flirt?_ The thought saved him; while he'd not had that much experience with men, flirting was one thing he'd gotten very good at, and usually it was the other bloke whose knees turned to jelly. He summoned what remained of his nerve and closed the door behind him, slowly approaching Draco's turned back. Draco was fussily flicking the wand at a pile of clothes so that they flew into categorized sections in his closet.

"Be just a minute. I hate to have my clothes everywhere. They're high quality, but they wrinkle at the drop of a hat."

Harry was close enough to reach out and touch him again; he traced a finger down the small of Draco's back, delighted by the little shiver that resulted. Draco turned to face him.

"No house-elves, eh?" Harry said softly, and smiled suggestively as their eyes met.

"Not this time. Too much trouble, house-elves. They need constant supervision." He rolled his eyes and Harry grinned. He stepped in closer, putting an arm around Draco's waist. He was nervous, but told himself it was no different than what they'd done under the flashing lights and to the pounding of trance music. Why should this be any more difficult? He thought Draco looked amused, but was glad he did not pull away. _Just remember, he wants you. He invited you back, didn't he?_

"Draco, tonight was…was…"

Draco lifted an eyebrow.

"Was…?"

"Amazing, was what I meant to say. It just sounds silly, out loud. I mean…" _I sound like an idiot!_ He was mortified.

"Yeah, it was pretty good. You're not bad on the floor, Potter."

"Thanks. But I think I have you to thank for that."

"Doesn't matter. You had plenty of admirers."

"Seems like you do as well."

Draco shrugged, still smiling in that strange, knowing way. What was he thinking? Was he waiting for Harry to make the first move? _He's teasing me_, he realized. _He wants to rub it in, savor the moment. _All right, he could play along. He pressed against Draco, pulling him in as before, and his body remembered the feeling of rightness as they embraced. Draco smelled of sweat and cologne, of testosterone and sex. A savage arousal was beginning to take over Harry. He wanted him badly, even though he did not know what to do with him. His doubts seeped away as he leaned in to drink the smell of Draco's neck. He nibbled it, kissed it, licked it, tickled the place where the damp hair touched skin. Draco shivered against him again, letting out a laugh that sounded more like a startled gasp in disguise. The bony hands suddenly clutched his forearms, holding him at bay as Draco pushed him back to look into his face.

"Problem?"

"I was just on my way to take a shower, Harry."

"I don't mind. If you'd rather, I can wait." Insistence was the key here. _Don't let him have a chance to make you lose your nerve!_ The seductive beast inside him whispered. "Although," he pulled Draco in again and traced his ear with his lips; "personally, I was enjoying the smell of your cologne…"

"I'm all sweaty."

"I know." He lowered his voice a hair more, and thought this time Draco had stifled a moan deep in his throat. He felt a tiny bit of pressure backward, and moved with Draco, stumbling briefly against the leg of the bed. His arms tightened around the small waist. His nipples were hard as his shirt, crushed by Draco's chest, brushed against them. He closed his eyes. He thought he'd never felt so aroused in his life; the insides of his thighs were beginning to tingle; the blood rushed from his head into that other place down between his legs; in a moment, he would really need to lie down-

Suddenly, as Harry stopped their backward drift, he felt Draco pull roughly away, and in his place was something soft and plush. He opened his eyes just in time to catch hold of a gigantic blue quilt that was now separating him from Draco's body. He also noticed, with some bewilderment, that he was now standing just inside the doorframe to the room.

"What-"

"Bedclothes," Draco answered, looking as innocent as if they had been discussing something entirely benign all along. "In case you get cold," he was saying. "That's what you came up here for, isn't it?"

"_Bedclothes_?" What kind of a stupid game was this?

"What's the matter, Harry? You seem upset." Draco's eyes were practically laughing, but he did not budge from the entrance.

"No, Draco. To be perfectly honest, I came up here because I _thought_ you invited me."

Draco's mouth dropped open in mock surprise.

"But….ohhhh…hang on a moment; did you plan on sleeping in _here_? I mean, with _me?_"

Harry roiled.

"Don't be a perfect prat, Malfoy. You know perfectly well that's what I was thinking." He blushed, his pride severely wounded. So Draco didn't want him after all; he was just playing with him like a cat with a mouse. Had it been like that all along? Or was this his signature behavior, teasing all his prospective lovers? "Fine, then. If you don't want me here, I'll just go down and nurse my dignity on your bloody old sofa. I'll try not to waste anymore of your time."

"Hang on a moment. Why're you looking so ruffled? It was an honest mistake!" Draco clutched his sleeve as he backed down toward the hall, but Harry ripped it away, not amused in the slightest.

"Let it go, Draco. It's all right. I understand. Only I wish you'd told me as much earlier, instead of leading me along like a fish on a hook. No matter. I suppose I can't very well blame you. Why I should think it would be different now, after all those years you've hated-"

"Now just hang on a minute, Harry," Draco's voice was firm as he clung to his arm and forced him to stand. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"The wrong idea! Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"You're stunning when you're scathingly sarcastic, Harry. Anyone ever told you that?"

"No."

Draco sighed and stepped in close, the quilt squashing between them. Harry's blood began to race again. Perhaps it _was_ still just a game. Damn him; why was Draco so _good_ at exciting him with just a look…

"Don't get me wrong, Harry." His voice was low and alluring, and sexual tension built and throbbed between them. "It's not that I'm brushing you off. It's just that I have this…well, policy."

"A policy."

"Yes. You see, I never like to let anyone sleep in my bed, on the first night."

"On the first…but, wait, I didn't mean to say-"

"I know, I know. You just wanted to…sleep. It's just my policy, is all. And I'm afraid I have a reputation for sticking to it. No matter how…tempting, the other option might be." Draco was grazing Harry's lips as he spoke now, Harry shivering, and feeling somewhat drugged by the overtly sexual suggestion. But he was hardly prepared when Draco suddenly grabbed him roughly by the neck and kissed him, his lips burning as they pressed Draco's. Draco plunged a tongue into his mouth, he bit his lip, he pushed him back through the doorframe. Then he pulled away, a smile on his lips, his eyes coldly alluring.

"You understand. I only hope you'll forgive me. Just for tonight."

Harry stood dumb, his mouth hanging open as the door slowly closed on Draco's beaming expression.

"You couldn't have just conjured a quilt?"

"Honestly, you have no subtly," Harry heard through the door, and almost smiled ruefully. His groin prickled. Damn him. Stupid Malfoy.

He struggled with the quilt, returning to the living room where Simone looked up with obvious surprise.

"Draco gone to bed then?"

"Yes." Harry flopped into Draco's armchair and wrapped himself in the quilt, scowling. Both Paul and Simone were looking at him as if he were the perfect picture of woe.

"So," Paul began after a moment of sullen silence, "Won't you be joining him?"

"He kicked me out. Apparently, he has a 'policy' to keep. But you two should know all about that, shouldn't you?"

"Oh, right. Of course. Draco's policy." Simone got up, exchanging a glance with Paul. _They had a bet,_ Harry figured. He didn't really care. "Well, I'm off to bed myself. Unless you'd like to use the guest room, Harry?"

Harry shook his head.

"Very well; g'night, boys. See you in the morning."

"In the morning, Simone." Paul had returned to his game, and Harry watched the screen blankly, warmed by the thought of his passionate kiss with Draco. _If only_, he thought sleepily, _if only I could have hung onto him a little more, maybe I'd be in his bed right now, 'stead of on this stupid old couch…_ His eyelids drooped as he wondered what exactly he would have done if he _had_ been invited to bed with Draco. Sleep, most likely…he dropped off.


	4. Chapter 4

-1At six thirty a.m., Harry was awakened by complete silence. He opened his eyes, which were instantly met with darkness, and realized the game had been turned off. He listened to the house, and realized from the soft breathing on the floor that Paul had fallen asleep. He waited until his eyes adjusted, his memory slowly returning. What time was it now? Had it been several hours? It felt like it; the house was still dark. He heard the ticking of the clock next to him, and was surprised to learn he'd slept little more than an hour. Well, so much for Paul staying awake all night; he shifted under the quilt. It had warmed around his body, and felt rather comfortable if it weren't for the fact that he was lonely.

He had planned for the night to go differently; yes, he was thrilled to have come back with Draco and his friends, but he was frustrated. It didn't seem that he was getting much further in his sexual exploration, and he could not stay away from home forever. He wanted to come back whole, more aware of himself. He wanted to see his friends again, and be confident enough in his own sexuality so that they, perhaps, just maybe, would be able to accept him, too. And he wanted to enjoy just a few months of just being Harry, instead of the famous Harry Potter. _I must be doing something wrong, missing some opportunity; perhaps I didn't try hard enough, or make my interest clear, or let him know I really liked him, despite all our past problems…_

He lay there in the dark, thinking about Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. He thought about their first year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, when they'd first met. He thought about fifth year, when Draco managed to get him suspended from playing Quidditch, and seventh year, when Draco broke his nose. He thought about how he'd almost killed Draco with an evil spell that same year, and how, the following year, he'd saved Draco's life and faced off the dark wizard Voldemort. He thought about Draco, a blond twenty-something-year-old, winding and writhing in rhythm in the European underground, their eyes locked together in mutual appreciation, their bodies in perfect syncopation, their lips parted as they teased each other. He thought about their secrets; he thought about a lot of things.

At seven fifteen, Harry got up and stepped gingerly around the sprawled Paul, who snored softly on the floor. He crept up the stairs to the ticking of the downstairs clock, and turned the knob to Draco's bedroom door. It was locked. He took out his wand, which, like many wizards, he'd kept tucked under his shirt and jeans inside a special pouch he hardly noticed anymore.

"_Alohamora_," he whispered, and the lock clicked open while the door swung noiselessly inward. He saw a dark mound buried under blankets on the four poster bed, and softly closed the door behind him. He padded forward, stood at the foot of the bed, and undressed, dropping his clothes at his feet. His heart thundered, and he wondered if Draco would awake at the very sound. He climbed onto the bed and crawled toward the body under the covers, which turned and breathed loudly.

Draco was still asleep, and he flipped onto his back, his mouth open. His white-blond hair parted and fell to either side of his head. Harry stared at the bare chest, the arms flung out above the bedclothes. He pulled them away, revealing Draco's half-naked body-he wore sweatpants below the waist-and crawled in beside him. He stroked the hair on the pale face, parting it around the ears. Draco shuddered, and his eyes flew open.

"Huh? _Harry?!_ What the hell are you doing here?"

Draco sat bolt upright and stared at him, but Harry didn't move.

"It was quiet downstairs. A mite lonely." The incredulous expression on Draco's face was almost amusing. "Thought I'd come up and see if maybe you'd change your mind." He shrugged. After a moment, Draco relaxed, now completely awake. He rubbed his eyes with his palms.

"Oh. Right. You know, I forgot about you Gryffindors. You don't take no for an answer, do you?"

"Not very well, no. Of course, if you really want me to leave, I will."

"I said I had a policy. It's nothing against you."

"I know. It's all right. I shouldn't have come. I'll let you get back to sleep," Harry answered calmly, and made as if to get up from his side of the bed. When the blankets fell away from him, he saw Draco's eyes widen from his peripheral view.

"Are you _naked_?!"

"Yeah, why? Is that weird?" He looked back at him, giving him as innocent a look as he could muster. He thought Draco's pale face took on a tinge of color in the grayness of the room.

"Yeah, a little…what did you think, you were going to come here and entice me with your body? It's very flattering and all, and you're not such a bad-looking bloke, but seriously, Harry, you'd think I was less than an animal to fall for that."

"Oh. I'm sorry, then. I didn't mean to insult you. I don't really know how these things go. It was just my ignorance."

"What do you mean?" Harry hid his smile in the darkness at the greedy sound in Draco's voice. _Do I have your attention now, Malfoy_?

"Oh, well, you know."

"No, I don't. What do you mean, 'these things?'"

Harry shrugged.

"Just, that you're my first date from the same side of town, if you get my drift. Other than casual acquaintances. I mean, I've never even _kissed_ another man

before-"-this, of course, was not entirely true-"-at least not like _that_."

"Oh…right…"

Harry thought Draco sounded a little faint. Was it just his wishful imagination? Or could it be that he was now confident enough that it didn't matter?

"I guess I got a little too enthusiastic. But really, Draco, I don't want you to think I meant anything by it. I just wanted some company, you know, just to sleep, or even _talk_…"

"Talk?" Draco threw back his head and laughed. "All right, Potter, sure. We can talk. What do you want to talk about?"

"What it's like. I mean, for you. What's it like with a man?"

Draco lay back down, resting on his elbow.

"Depends what you mean by 'it.' Are you talking about sex? Fooling around? Kissing? Touching? Tying each other up?"

Harry felt his body heat rising, but he was pleased; Draco was teasing him again. That was good.

"All of it. What was it like for you? First of all, how did you know you liked men to begin with?"

"Ah. Well that's a whole other story. I'll tell you, but don't think you're going to worm your little way into my bed, Potter. Out here, it doesn't matter _who_ you are."

"Well," Harry lay back down also, but was careful to keep a little respectful space between them, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't hope you might let me stay, but all the same I'd just as soon listen to you talk."

"Flattery, is that your plan? Not very original." Draco smirked, but Harry thought he must know he was actually telling the truth. Draco launched into some anecdotes that had Harry intensely entertained, and even laughing at points. After a while, he forgot about the game he was playing, and listened with wide-eyed interest, his pulse racing at some of the things Draco mentioned. He asked questions that Draco answered, and they talked late into the night. He confessed to Draco that he was a virgin, and Draco admitted that he was not.

At nine a.m., with the house still silent and the morning light seeping in through the window blinds, Harry asked Draco if he would kiss him again. Draco obliged. At nine thirty, they were still passionately making out; they rolled around in every direction on the bed, pulling up the sheets from their corners. They grabbed fistfuls of the other's hair, devouring each other's lips. They straddled one another and Draco ground against Harry's naked body, the front of his sweats rock hard as Harry stroked him. Draco pushed him to his back, and sucked his nipples as Harry moaned. They both reminded each other, whenever they took a second to catch their breath, of Draco's policy, then began kissing again and playing with each other. Harry felt time slip away as he lost himself in their passion. The very thought of he and Draco, defying all of the past, was intoxicating. It thrilled him over and over. He clung to Draco, his body craving him like heat in winter.

At nine forty-eight, Draco rolled Harry on top of him and informed him that he was revoking his policy.

At eleven o'clock, they lay in each other's arms, exhausted, drinking in the scent of the other as they closed their eyes. Harry had made love to Draco twice. He shut his eyes and listened sleepily to the silence, reveling in what they had done, how they'd cheated the rules of the game of life. Here he was, he marveled again, lying in the arms of a man who was once his most despicable rival. He was holding him like a lover, and he had lost his virginity to him. What's more, his rival had allowed him to take him, inexperienced though he was, hated though he had been, and he now lay sleepily satisfied and silent, practically purring with pleasure.

The sex had been unbelievable. At first, Harry was frozen with indecision. His frustration and arousal boiled in his skin, and yet he realized he did not have the first idea of how to make love, least of all to a man. He lay on top of Draco, furiously kissing his mouth, caressing his body, trying desperately to be inspired. As he rolled Draco onto his stomach-gently, preparing to enter him, Draco suddenly flapped his hand toward the left side of the bed.

"What's wrong?"

"Open the drawer over there, in the nightstand. There's a bottle."

Harry managed to feel around for a small vial, which he gave to Draco, who promptly swallowed its contents. Handing the empty bottle to the bewildered Harry, Draco explained how the potion easily addressed the same concerns Muggles were always obsessed with, with some added benefits. Harry had started slow, not wanting to make the mistake of letting his enthusiasm overtake his competence. Draco was an easy partner; he remained relaxed and seemed to enjoy the initial penetration. But as the pleasure mounted, Harry found the old beast rising up in him again with a new, released ferocity. His adrenaline pumped as he pounded into Draco, his thighs wet against the back of Draco's. He replayed the way Draco had teased him tonight and at the club, and thinking about their former rivalry, he had increased his thrust and speed. Draco gasped.

"What are you doing?" he'd moaned, and Harry had leaned down and whispered, "Paying you back." They had reached a throbbing climax, slowing as their bodies wracked in uncontrollable spasms. They held it in as they came, Draco following Harry.

The second time, Harry was determined to outlast Draco. More comfortable now, he let himself go, enjoying the rhythm of their love-making. He clutched at Draco's hair and stroked his back and neck affectionately, leaning down to kiss it and whisper in his ear. They lasted longer this time, the thrusts faster toward the end. The bed creaked underneath them, and Harry wondered if they would be heard by Simone or even Paul, downstairs. He longed to let go and thrust hard into the mattress. They came even harder than before. Draco had let out a muffled groan, burying his face into a pillow, while Harry had stifled his own cries against Draco's drenched neck.

At ten after eleven, Draco rolled over to face Harry, pulled in close, and kissed him deeply on the lips before dropping off to sleep.

At eleven twelve, Harry wiped his damp eyes with his palm and followed suit, falling deeply, deliciously asleep. He awoke at two.

"…must have left early," a tiny male voice was saying as if from very far away.

"No, he's still asleep. He's upstairs."

"Where?"

"Where else?"

"You _shagged_ him?!"

"Don't be a git. Are you making more?"

"There wasn't much as it was in the tin. Want coffee?"

"Is there anything else?"

"Indian spiced."

"Give me that."

Harry realized he must be hearing the voices through a grating in the room, as he so often had when he lived with the Dursleys. Draco's voice was quieter than the other's, but unmistakable. He wasn't certain, but guessed that the other voice was Simone's. Was Paul down there as well? How much had Draco told them? He felt too comfortable to move, but he wished Draco would return. The fact that the world was already up and moving about, the day rushing forward, was somewhat depressing.

"I can't believe you shagged him, Draco," the other voice was saying. It seemed to be moving about the room. Harry figured they must be in the kitchen. He heard another muffled voice that was low, and guessed that Paul was with them, but he couldn't make out his words.

"…none of your business, is it? And who says I shagged him? I didn't say it."

"You implied it."

"No. You always jump to the most obvious conclusion."

Paul made some comment at which the two of them laughed.

"-all I'm saying is, you'd better be careful, Malfoy. You looked a little star struck this morning."

Another muffled comment.

"I'm not subdued. I'm groggy. Anyway, you needn't worry about me. Potter's the one you ought to worry about. He's the one who's all naïve. Wanted to ask me some questions, is all."

Harry perked up, his heartbeat picking up. Was Draco going to betray him now?

"You know better, Malfoy. That's all I'm saying. You know better than to let your tricks get too close. What happens if you fall for him, and he leaves? What then? Do you want another Mackeroy?"

"I know what I'm doing. And, despite what you might think, he's not some 'trick.' He's an old friend. Nothing more. At least not for now."

But though they pushed him and insisted on hearing details, Draco would tell them nothing. Harry thought perhaps it was time for him to go downstairs and end the awkward conversation. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to eavesdrop any longer, anyway. Better he never knew how Draco might have answered if they bothered him long enough…

"Good morning," he mumbled as he wandered into the kitchen. All three faces were turned to him: Draco was leaning almost sullenly against the kitchen counter, facing the door; Paul was sitting on the counter next to him, and Simone was standing next to the refrigerator, a carton of milk in his hand. He was greeted also by a pleasant, sweet smell that reminded him of cinnamon. "Something smells good," he added, ignoring their stares. He glanced at Draco, who looked away, and shrugged, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

"Morning, Harry. Sleep well?" Paul asked, seeming more alert than the previous night.

"Beautifully. Is that tea you're making?" Simone nodded, and handed him a mug.

"Thanks."

"We were just talking about you-" Paul cut off sharply, and as Harry looked up, he thought Draco had smacked him.

"Wondering whether or not you were going to sleep all day," Simone finished.

"I thought about it. Draco's bed is rather comfortable…" he grinned, and caught Draco's eye. Draco smiled, and he beamed, not minding the snickers.

"I wouldn't know."

"Neither would I."

"Oh really? Hmm, that's odd. Why is that?"

"Well, you see, Draco has this 'policy-'"

"I made an exception for Harry. He didn't want to sleep by himself, is all. And anything more than that is none of your business."

Draco was giving Paul a threatening glare, but Harry had a feeling there wasn't much heart in it. He thought, as the two of them left the room, that Draco looked considerably more relaxed and happier than he'd probably ever seen him. He felt warm all over with a certain tenderness, which brought butterflies to his stomach. _Could I be falling in love with him?_ He wondered, as he sipped his tea…

At three thirty, Paul left, saying he had to get back home before his parents began to wonder about him. Shortly after that, Harry began to wonder if he should leave as well. He, Simone and Draco had been sitting in near silence in the living room, watching a program in German. It was on sports bloopers, so they were able to enjoy it, but aside from occasional commentary, they did not have much to say. He wondered if what had happened that morning was finally over, and grew sad. Finally, after another half hour, he stood up and suggested that he'd better get going. The other two stood as well.

"I'd best be off as well, Draco."

"I think I'll be catching up on my sleep, anyway. I have to leave tomorrow morning. Got to pack."

"You're going back to England?" Harry stood in the hallway, where he found his jacket hanging from a claw-like, bronze hand. Simone was already halfway out of the door. He glanced back.

"Good to meet you, Harry. You'll have to come back again, with Draco."

"I'd love that."

Simone left.

Draco was looking at Harry, his expression as unreadable as usual, but Harry thought there was an air of shyness between them.

"Not quite yet. I have some more traveling to do. Thought I'd take a year off or so, see where the wind takes me."

"That must be nice. I wish I could do that."

"What's stopping you?"

Harry shrugged.

"Responsibility, I guess. Expectations."

"The Ministry."

"Among other things."

"So I reckon. Well, what of you and that Weasley woman? I thought I heard something about you being engaged?"

"Oh, Ginny? Oh. Well, there was some attempt at it; we decided it would be best to give it a few more years, see what's right. At least, I think that's what we agreed, last time I talked to her-"

"So you're still, technically, engaged?"

"No, no…I never really was, is all."

"Ah."

After another awkward silence, Harry could stand it no longer. He moved in toward Draco, hoping somehow to convey in his face what he could not seem to express in words. _He'll probably think you're pathetic. Shut up_, he told himself.

"Draco. Thank you. For this morning. For everything. I really enjoyed being with all of you."

Draco smiled, blushing slightly. He seemed determined to remain nonchalant.

"Glad I could help. You weren't bad, you know. Lucky for you."

Harry grinned, but he felt uneasy. Was this really the end? Was everything amounting to some kind of one night stand?

"I was hoping…I don't know, if you even want to. I mean, I'm sure you have other things going on, but I'd love it if sometime, when you're back I mean, or even before, maybe I could visit you again?"

"Sure. I don't see why not."

"Great, great." Harry nodded, staring vacantly past Draco's shoulder into the flat. He wondered if he should kiss him goodbye. If he did, Draco might laugh at him. But if he didn't, and they never saw each other again, he would undoubtedly regret it. So he did. He put a hand on Draco's neck, and pulled them together, kissing his lips tenderly. Draco allowed it, and when Harry let him go, he smiled. Still, he seemed reserved, and Harry felt his heart sink. So this was it. Fine. _Might as well hold nothing back, then._

He stepped outside into the chill, the sunlight making him squint. It was a gorgeous day. The streets were busier than before as people went up and down the streets in mostly business attire. Cars honked at the pedestrians, who lazily crossed, chattering animatedly with companions or looking lost in thought if alone. He turned around to face Draco again, and though the gray eyes held something under the surface, something that mirrored his own bittersweet fondness.

"So, is this it then?"

Draco gazed down the street for a moment, seeming to consider. Then he looked back, a surprisingly vulnerable frown on his face.

"I suppose it doesn't have to be…" he sounded uncertain.

_Of course! He's just as afraid as I am_, Harry thought with the delight of epiphany. He suddenly felt like whistling.

"Good. Because I don't want it to be. So promise me you'll look me up. I don't want to have to wait another seven years for you to come around, Draco Malfoy."

Draco beamed, the sunlight outshone by the smooth lines of his handsome face.

"You won't."

THE END


End file.
